The Lost Time Affair
by celticmusebooks
Summary: A very very early piece I wrote in the early 90's. Gervaise Ravel finds revenge is a dish best served cold with a nice Bourdeaux


"I'm sorry, Napoleon." The anguished apology echoed softly through the cold stone wine cellar. It didn't really matter; Kuryakin knew that his partner was dead. He had been forced to watch, helpless as the volley of bullets had torn through Solo's body, viciously ripping the life from him.

.

"You took what I loved most in the world Mr. Kuryakin." Gervaise Ravel had said as she regarded him with ice cold blue eyes. "The time has come for us to settle that account. I believe that transactions of this sort require a common currency." Moments later Napoleon lay dead in the doorway of the dank cellar, cut down with Kuryakins own gun..

"Killing you Mr. Kuryakin will be anticlimactic. Like paperwork, tedious, but necessary. I'd prefer to let you suffer your loss longer, but I can't leave any loose ends." She had raised the gun to Kuryakin's head.. "Necessary," she said, smiling coldly, "but not necessarily quick." She had lowered the weapon and emptied the clip into his midsection.

Had it only been a few moments since she left them? No, some of his blood was already drying on the floor around him. His hands were free. How had that happened? Yes, he remembered now. He had used a rough edge between two of the paving stones, to cut through the leather thong that Gervaise had used to bind his wrists then removed the gag.

_Too late_. He sighed and a fresh surge of pain rushed through him. His lungs were filling with blood, it wouldn't be long now. Wrestling with the pain, he tried to pull himself up onto his elbows, but the pain was a well-trained opponent and his body was weak.

"The mind controls the body." he admonished himself. _A few more feet, just a few more feet. Just this last thing, please, just this last thing_. Pushing through the pain, he dragged himself the last few feet, clasping the hand of his dead friend.

" 'In Paradisum deducant te Angeli,' Napoleon." It took tremendous effort to form the ancient words. These were the words that Ceala sang as Alexander Waverly's casket had been carried from the church. May the Angels lead you into Paradise. The memory of her sweet voice lingered in his thoughts, until he thought no more.

"Are they dead?" he asked, dispassionately surveying the two bodies on the floor. He had taken to doing this fairly recently, asking her questions when the answer was so patently obvious.

"It would appear so." She had learned over time that it was easier to simply humor him.

"Is that the weapon?" He pointed to the automatic pistol lying on the floor near the bodies.

She picked up the weapon turning it over several times before returning it to the floor.

"No," she answered with certainty. "This weapon has ended many lives, but not these two." She studied the two men lying on the floor. "He's rather attractive," she said as she touched the face of the dark-haired man.

"If you like that type,"

She turned her gaze to meet his.. Why did she sometimes find his petulance so endearing? She had frequently been asked why she stayed with him. Perhaps it fulfilled some maternal instinct in her. She had never been able to understand it herself, much less explain it to the others.

"Were they lovers?" he asked, staring at their clasped hands.

"Not lovers, they were partners… like us."

Not quite like us he mused, and she felt the slight uptick of her lips at the warm humor of his thoughts.

"Must you do that," he protested with irritation. "It's quite annoying."

She did not reply. Instead, she began examining the contents of the small room. She found another gun, identical to the first near the pool of blood on the floor. She bent down to pick it up and was momentarily overwealmed by the impressions emanating from the weapon.

"A woman.. she lured them here."

"For what purpose?" Steel asked.

"The consummation of hatred, a hatred going back many years." She bent down and touched the blond man's hair, and felt an inexplicable surge of tenderness. " It was this one that she hated. He killed a man, a man who was her lover."

"So she killed them both in revenge."

Why did he always have to jump ahead of her? It was most annoying. Why couldn't he just let her do her work?

"Not exactly." She returned turned her attention to the dark-haired man. "The revenge was that the younger man was forced to watch his friend die. The younger man was the bait. This man had the chance to escape, but he came back for his friend." She touched Napoleon Solo's icy hand. "He understood that he might die in doing this, but that didn't matter to him." She stared at him for a few moments then looked up to her own partner. Though he was unable to read her thoughts, he shifted uncomfortably at her gaze. This pleased her.

"And they weren't lovers?"

"I've already told you they weren't."

"Take time back, Sapphire, I want to see how it happened."

Napoleon Solo crept silently down the corridor to the wine cellar. His stomach knotted seeing the trail of blood on the granite paving stones. What if that was Kuryakin's blood? What if he was already too late? He inhaled slowly, deeply. He must focus. A man who was still bleeding was not dead. Gervaise Ravel. How many times could one person return from the dead? Perhaps even the devil himself could not deal with such a woman and simply was returning her to her last known address.

Illya Kuryakin lay on the cold stone floor, struggling vainly against the leather restraints Ravel had used to bind his wrists and feet. The pain in his shoulder was growing worse. The bullet, lodged in his rotator cuff, seemed to tear deeper with every attempt at movement. Yet he continued to struggle. He had to get free, it was his partner's only chance. No one would be coming for them; indeed, no one even knew that they were here.

"You took what I loved most in the world Mr. Kuryakin. The time has come for us to settle that account. . I believe that transactions of this sort require a common currency." She spoke in the casual tone of a housewife cashing a small check at the supermarket. "He's about to die for you. It makes for splendid theater don't you think?"

She became silent. Waiting.

"Illya?." Napoleon scanned the darkness for his friend without success, the sick feeling welling up in him again. Gradually his eyes acclimated to the darkness and he saw his partner slumped in the corner.

"Thank God," he whispered, quickly moving toward the frighteningly still figure. "Time to go my friend." He heard the sound of the gun being cocked and reached to his shoulder holster.

"Did you feel that?" Steel heard Sapphire's words in his mind.

"What, feel what Sapphire?" He had only to form the thought for her to hear him.

"A slip, time slipped four seconds."

The sound of six shots and the dark-haired man again lay dead.

The blond-haired man's soul shrieked with pain at the horror before him. Sapphire was momentarily overcome with the unexpected desire to comfort him.

This case was becoming too personal, she must detach herself. These feelings could be time's own effort to distract her from the task at hand. Steel was staring at her, his blue eyes cold, always the mask.

"I'm sorry, Napoleon."

Steel turned to her. "Take time back again Sapphire, to before you felt the time slippage"

"Thank God," Napoleon whispered. "Time to go my friend." He heard the sound of the gun being cocked and reached to the shoulder holster.

_Did you feel it that time Steel?_

_ Yes, Sapphire, I felt it that time._

The sound of the shots echoed through the cold stone room.

"You're certain that this is not how these men are meant to die?" Steel asked

"We wouldn't have been sent here if this was how they were to die. The one called Solo clearly heard the gun being cocked. Without the time slip he should have been able to shoot the woman before she could fire at him. He is an expert marksman."

"How will time benefit from the death of these two?"

"They function in this time to a degree as we do. They protect this world from the evil-hearted. In the wake of their death at this time, Gervaise Ravel will raise an army of those like-minded to herself. Many will suffer. In the end their evil will bring about destruction and death for many."

"We must find where time is breaking in. Is it her weapon that caused the time slip?"

Sapphire's gaze fixed on the shining metal of the gun. "No. It's an ordinary weapon, made in this time."

"Then it's something else in this room…something not of this time. Could the woman have taken it with her when she left?"

"No, she took nothing with her."

"Then it's something still here in this room?" Steel's gaze traveled through the small cave like room. Common flagstones, wooden beams, and wooden wine racks. "Wine is a natural product of time. Is it the wine Sapphire?"

She began to touch each of the bottles, shaking her head then stopped at a bottle of French Bordeaux. She fixed her gaze on the dusty bottle. "The wine inside of this bottle is over one hundred years old, but the label on the bottle gives the vintage as 1943."

"Is it the source of the time slip?"

"Yes, Steel, I'm certain that it is."

"All right, take time back again, but this time I don't want to see the hall, I want to be in the room with the one called Kuryakin."

Illya struggled vainly against the leather restraints. The pain in his shoulder was growing worse. The bullet, lodged in the rotator cuff, seemed to tear deeper with every attempt at movement.

"What is he thinking Sapphire?"

"There is a woman. He feels comfort that she is safe. It's this man in his thoughts now, the danger to him. His feelings for the man are very strong, not as a lover, the woman is his lover. The man is his friend, his only friend. He wants to warn the man, but he can't get free. He isn't thinking about his own life." Sapphire's voice had become soft to the point of a whisper. "He only thinks of the life of his partner."

"What if he were to break the bottle of Bordeaux, what if he were to do that ? Could he knock the wine bottles from the rack? Would that prevent the time slip?"

"I'm not sure." she responded. "It's possible."

"Try to put that idea in his mind Sapphire, can you do that?"

"I could try."

"Take time back to before the one called Solo entered the wine cellar."

"You took what I loved most in the world Mr. Kuryakin, the time has come for us to settle that account. I find transactions of this sort require a common currency." There was a movement of bluish light that sparkled against the wine bottles. "He's about to die for you. It makes for splendid theater don't you think?"

"Illya." Napoleon scanned the darkness for his friend, the sick feeling welling up in him again. Slowly his eyes acclimated to the darkness and he saw his partner slumped in the corner.

"Thank God." he whispered, quickly moving toward the frighteningly still figure. Suddenly, Kuryakin thrust himself back against the tall oak wine rack sending dozens of bottles crashing to the stone floor. Napoleon reached into the shoulder holster. From the shadows he heard the sound of a gun being cocked and dispatched six shots into the dark figure who had been hiding behind the wine bottles.

"Illya!" Solo rushed to his friend lying on the stone floor amid the wine and broken glass.

"Are you all right?" he asked, removing the gag from his partner's mouth.

I've been better, my friend."

Solo began to undo the leather restraints, noting his partner's wounded shoulder.

"Gervaise Ravel?" Kuryakin asked.

"She's dead. Come on, let's get out of here." He cautiously helped his injured partner to his feet. "See, this is what happens when you make enemies my friend. That's why I'm always telling you to try to get along with people. If you would just listen to me our lives would be a lot simpler."

"Ah yes Napoleon." Kuryakin responded, favoring his partner with a faint smile, "But not nearly so interesting."

Sapphire could not suppress a smile at the brief moment of tenderness between the two men. It was not their way to share their hearts in words. They had their own language, and it was clear that each understood. Steel touched her shoulder gently breaking into her idyll.

"We're finished here Sapphire."

She turned to meet his gaze, for just a second his eyes were not cold. He had removed the mask for her.

This of course was what she could not explain to the others. There were simply no words that could describe what had transpired between her and Steel in that brief moment.. For they too had their own language, and it was clear that each understood.


End file.
